James hesitated.  “You ought to tell me,” Clemency said imperatively.

“I have thought sometimes that she did not look quite well,” said James.

“What do you think the matter is?”

“It may be indigestion.”

“Do you think it is?”

“I don’t know.  Doctor Gordon has told me nothing, and Mrs. Ewing has told me nothing.”

“I thought doctors could tell from a person’s looks.”

“Not always.”

“Doctors aren’t much good anyhow,” said Clemency.  “I don’t care if you are one, and Uncle Tom is one.  I notice people die just the same.  So you think it is indigestion?  Well, it may be.  Mother doesn’t have much appetite.”

“Yes, I have noticed that,” said James.

“Then there is something else I want to ask you,” said Clemency.  “I have a right to know if you know.  What does Uncle Tom make me stay in the house so for?”

“I don’t know,” replied James, looking honestly at her.

“Don’t you, honest?  Hasn’t he told you?”

“No.”

“Of course, I know the first of it came from my meeting that man the day you came here, but it does seem such utter nonsense that I have to stay housed this way.  I never met a man that frightened me before, and it is not likely that I shall again.  It does not stand to reason that that man is hanging around here waiting to intercept me again.  It is nonsense, but Uncle Tom won’t let me stir out.  He has even ordered me to keep away from the windows, and be sure that the curtains are drawn at night.  I don’t know what the matter is.  I can’t say a word about it to mother, she is so nervous.  I have to pretend that I like to stay in the house, and some days I really think I am going mad for fresh air.  Uncle Tom won’t even let me go driving with him.  So you don’t know anything about it?”

“Nothing whatever.”

“Well, I can’t stand it much longer,” said Clemency with an obstinate look.  “As for the pain in my side, that’s an awful lie; I haven’t the ghost of a pain.  I can’t stand it much longer.  Here’s Uncle Tom.  You are not going to tell him I said anything about it?”

“Of course, I am not,” answered James.  He began to feel that he was entangled in a web of secrecy, and his feeling of irritation increased.  He would have gotten out of it and spent Christmas at his own home, but Doctor Gordon had an unusual number of patients suffering from grippe, and pneumonia was almost epidemic, and he felt that he should not leave.  It was the second week of the new year when James, returning from a call at a near-by patient, whither he had walked, found Mrs. Ewing in the greatest distress.  It was ten o’clock at night, and she was pacing the living-room.  Immediately when he entered she ran to him.  “Oh,” she gasped, “Clemency, Clemency!”

“Why, what is it?” asked James.  Clemency had not been at the dinner-table, but he had supposed her sulking, as she had been doing of late, and that she had taken advantage of Doctor Gordon’s absence at a distant patient’s to remain away from the table.